Sergeant Wyatt: SWAT Team Adventure

Hello FFFs,
I wonder if any of you got on here earlier and didn't find a new story. Well, if you did, I'm sorry. I was going to get this ready to post yesterday, but things got busy. I spent most of the afternoon helping my aunt decorate for Christmas. I think this is the best year yet. :)
This morning Grandma, Mom, S and I went to JoAnns a little before 7:00. I got yarn for the new knitting things I learned to do. I am knitting socks! It is such fun! I can't wait to try some fun yarn. I've used wool so far.
We had our Thanksgiving on Wednesday so Jimmy & Megan could come up, too. The kids were such fun. Here is a James funny:
James had finished eating everything on his plate during the "big dinner."
(Great)-Grandma says, "You cleaned your plate!"
James looks down at his plate, that holds it up to show Grandma, "No, it's dirty.":)
But that is enough for now. Here is the story.

Sergeant Wyatt: SWAT Team Adventure

The gray light of early dawn was stealing across the eastern sky as Sergeant Jerry Wyatt of the Burgess City Police Department strode out of the office towards his vehicle. He tried unsuccessfully to smother a yawn as he unlocked the door of his blue pickup, nodded to a fellow officer coming on duty and slid in behind the wheel. It had been another long, busy night of patrol work, and he was glad to be going home. He could use a good sleep.
The rosy pink clouds in the east gave promise of a beautiful day. In the trees, the birds had already struck up a full chorus: robins, cardinals, blue jays, sparrows, chickadees, finches, wrens and many others, all rejoicing in one of the last few days of warmth before the cold weather descended on everything for real. Pulling into his driveway, Jerry slowly got out of his truck with another yawn. Sleep. That was all he wanted at the moment, and stepping up on the front stoop he glanced down at his watch. It was nearly 7:00. Slowly his tired hands unlocked the door and stepping in, he turned to close it. However, something caught his eye.
“Hmm,” he muttered, looking north, “I wonder what that’s from.” Dark gray smoke was billowing to the sky from some place miles away. After gazing for a moment Jerry shrugged and turned, shutting the door. “Glad I’m not on duty any more.”
Collapsing on his bed, he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. . . . Jerry rolled over in bed and opened one eye. The glowing red lights on his alarm clock read 7:32. Beep. Beep. Beep. . . . The noise continued, each beep driving deeper than the last into the fog of sleep, penetrating his brain, forcing his mind to think, to understand, to act. Suddenly Jerry sprang up, all thoughts of sleep vanished. His pager! That’s what it was!
Snatching it up, he hit a button and listened to the message.
“SWAT team call,” he muttered to himself. “Arsonist burns his own building?” He shook his head, scrambling to get ready.

“Okay, that sounds like everything. He’s barricaded himself in a storage place. That’s where we’re going; let’s head out.” The briefing at the police station was over, and the SWAT team headed out to the van.
“Hey Sarge,” one of the men called to Jerry, “what kind of a crazy guy would go and burn his own building down?”
Jerry shook his head. It didn’t make sense to him either, so he turned to the SWAT team’s paramedic who was striding beside him. “Got an answer for that one, Ryan?”
“I think he needs some help.”
“Yeah,” Corporal Joe put in, “he needs help all right, and we’ll give it to him.”
There was little talk in the SWAT van as they headed out towards the storage unit on the edge of town.
The sun was bright as the Burgess City SWAT team settled into position around the storage unit.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day,” Corporal Joe remarked to Sergeant Wyatt.
Jerry glanced over. “You just had to say that, didn’t you, Joe.”

“Sergeant Wyatt.”
Jerry moved over to the police negotiator. “What’s up, Tom?”
“Nothing. I can’t get anywhere with him.” The officer sighed. “And he’s armed.”
“Well, I guess we just keep waiting and hope he comes out.”
Nodding, Tom started to turn away, but Sergeant Wyatt had a question.
“Any clues as to why he burned his own business down?”
Tom shook his head. “Nope. Detectives Brad and Steve are checking some things, but I doubt we’ll know until the guy,” he jerked his head towards the storage building, “comes out and confesses.”
Jerry nodded and headed back to his men stationed around the building.
“Guys,” Sergeant Wyatt informed the men, “it looks like we’ll be here a while.”
The men looked at each other in silence. This was all a part of their job.

The morning wore slowly on and the temperature climbed into the eighties. With their full equipment on of over a hundred pounds, the SWAT team began to grow uncomfortable. Taking breaks by turn helped a little. But they couldn’t take off their equipment, for they had to be constantly ready, for no one knew what this man would do. Again and again the police negotiator tried to reason with him to come out and give himself up, but to no avail.
Arriving in their vans and cars, the news reporters mingled around trying to get the latest developments for their station or paper. But along with the reporters came the Red Cross. Jerry saw them with thankfulness. He knew they could always count on them to show up, for any long seige, with food and drinks.
As the long day wore slowly on, with bright sun and warm weather, Jerry could feel the sweat running in tiny streams down his back, neck and face. How he wished he could take off his heavy bullet proof vest, even for a little while. He and the SWAT team’s medic kept an eye on the rest of the men. Several times someone from the SWAT team had needed medical help when suffering from heat. As it now appeared, however, since the sun was dropping lower, heat exhaustion wouldn’t be a problem.

“Sarge, how long you think that guy will stay in there?”
Jerry shrugged. “No telling. Hopefully he’ll give up soon.”
“If we could just have a little action,” Corporal Joe grinned, “it would at least be a little more interesting.”
“I know what you mean, Joe.”

As evening descended, so did the cold. Before long several of the men were beginning to shiver.
“This is the kind of day that’s rough on a person,” Sergeant Wyatt muttered to Ryan as they both took a break with some hot coffee from the Red Cross. “I mean, first you get drenched with sweat, and then you freeze in wet clothes.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah. And yet, you wouldn’t trade this job for any other eight hour day in an office, would you?”
Jerry grinned and shook his head before draining the last of his coffee. “Not a chance. Who wants to be stuck inside a boring old office when you could be chasing bad guys with guns.”
“Or wishing they’d come out, huh?”
“That too,” Jerry laughed, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to get back.”

In the early morning hours, Jerry was called over.
“We’re tired of waiting for him to come out, so we’re going to blow the door. Make sure your men are ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Wyatt replied. “I think they’ll be glad for a little action.”
Moving back to his men he told them in low tones to get ready. Instantly all tiredness dropped away and senses snapped to full alert.
Glancing around to make sure everyone was in place and ready, Sergeant Wyatt noticed a news reporter standing off to the side. It looked like she was about to do a broadcast, for she was facing away from the building towards the camera.
A quick wondering if she knew what was about to take place flashed through Jerry’s mind as he fingered the trigger of his gun.
BOOM!
The explosion was startling even to those waiting for it. Now the door into the storage unit was open.
“Do we go in, Sergeant?”
“No. He’s armed. We’ll wait and see what he does.”
All eyes were fixed on the now open door. A few shouts were heard from inside and then silence. Enough light came from the street lights and a few on the building itself to enable the watching SWAT team members to see a little ways into the dark entrance of the storage unit.
“Come on out now,” the negotiator called. “With your hands up.”
A figure appeared at the extreme edge of the light. “I still have a gun,” he called out.
What is this guy, nuts? Sergeant Wyatt thought. You don’t go anouncing to the police that you still have a gun.
“Drop your gun,” Tom ordered.
For a moment, the man stood there, then dropping his gun, he came forward with his hands up.
Not a SWAT man moved, but keeping the man covered with their guns, they waited until he was handcuffed.
“All right guys,” Sergeant Wyatt called. “Let’s load up.”
At last the long vigil was over. As the men were gathering up their things and talking, one of the Red Cross workers made his way over to Jerry.
“You should make sure you watch the news later, especially Channel 8.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if you noticed her or not, but the reporter was giving a live broadcast right when the door blew. You should have seen her! I’ll bet she jumped at least a foot.”
Jerry grinned. “I’ll be sure to watch it.”

Once back at the police station for a quick debriefing, Jerry found he could hardly stay awake. Stifling a yawn, he struggled to keep focused. Thankfully the meeting wasn’t long, and he once more headed home. This time he wanted a shower before bed.
Pulling into his driveway, he noticed the sky was beginning to grow a rosy pink and the birds were singing. “Didn’t I just do this?” he muttered.
Stepping out of his truck, he pulled out his key to let himself into the house. Stumbling inside, he noticed the time.
“No wonder I’m beat,” Sergeant Wyatt moaned. “I’ve been awake and on duty for thirty hours with only a thirty minute nap!” With a tremendous yawn, Jerry headed for his room. “At least if there is another call, the other SWAT team can get it,” he mumbled as he pulled off his boots.

Should I write more stories from the Burgess Police Department?

Meleah's Western Part 24

Good Morning all you Fabulous Friday Fiction Fans!
It is a glorious morning to be alive. The sky is a pale blue along the horizons, but the sun is coming up with all its splendor. Some trees are still holding on to their colorful dress, however, most of them are bare. Yards are covered with a carpet of leave, or have piles of them just waiting to be jumped in. It is chilly out now, but it should warm up somewhat. Today is the kind of day, to get things done. So, if you don't have anything planned, get to work and DO something!

This week has been bewilderingly busy.:) I had all kinds of plans for getting lots done, but a friend and her baby spent the afternoon here on Tues. That was such fun. On Wed. afternoon/evening, I taught my last writing class for the year and the family stayed and had supper with us. Delightful. Yesterday, we were out in the morning and then we baby-sat the kids all evening. That is always fun. You never know what we'll do.:) Today we have friends coming over for Library this afternoon and there is a bridal shower for a friend tonight. Tomorrow, being Saturday, means another busy day, too.
So, I didn't get much written this week. At least I had something to post.:)

I hope you enjoy this next Meleah's Western.

Part 24

The night, which had closed down around Ty and Sally, was dark and still. Other than the glowing embers of the fire, only the sliver of moon and the thousand twinkling stars in the heavens were to be seen. The brother and sister had gone to bed with the sun, having covered many miles that day. All was hushed. No breeze blew to rustle the leaves or grasses and only occasionally would one of the horses stir. The silence was intense.
With a start, Ty suddenly was jerked awake. For a moment he lay staring into the darkness and straining his ears. Softly reaching beside him, his hand grasped his rifle. Whatever it was that had awakened him would find him ready. Lying quietly back down, he pressed his ear to the ground, listening. Hoof beats. Faint though they were, there was no mistaking them.
Moving stealthily over to where Sally lay still wrapped in a deep slumber, Ty placed his hand over her mouth and whispered, “Sally!”
She was awake in an instant, her eyes wide with alarm. Not a sound did she make as Ty drew away his hand.
“Someone’s comin’. Get yer gun an’ get behind the trees.”
Sally nodded and slipping out of her blanket, she drew her father’s six gun from its holster. Then noiselessly she disappeared into the gloom. Ty followed and together they crouched in the blackness, waiting.

It wasn’t long before they could both hear distinctly the sound of horses. They weren’t moving rapidly, but they came on at a steady pace. In another moment they would be there.
Beside him, Ty heard the soft click of the six-shooter as it was cocked.
“Don’t shoot ‘till we know who it is an’ what they want,” he hissed.
“I don’t aim ta. Jest ta be prepared.”
Ty smiled rather grimly. He was glad Sally was taking things so calmly, yet wished she didn’t have to face this at all.
On the steps of the approaching horses came. A welcoming nicker from one of their own mounts greeted the new arrivals as they drew near the camp site. From the shadows Ty could make out the form of one rider who halted and looked around.
“Ty? Sally?”
That voice! It couldn’t be, and yet-- Ty heard Sally gasp as once again the stranger called,
“Ty? I know I ain’t taught ya ta sleep through someone ridin’ inta camp. Where in thunder are ya?”
“Uncle Bob!” “Carson!” The answering cries came at once as both Ty and Sally rushed from the trees, the one to grip Carson’s hand while the other threw herself about his neck.
It was indeed Carson. He had returned as it were, from the dead. Questions flew so thick and fast that he had no time to answer any or get a word in edge wise. At last, having disentangled himself from Sally’s embrace and pulled his hand out of Ty’s viselike grip, he cried out,
“Quiet!”
Instant silence prevailed. “I’ll answer yer questions soon’s I can, but I’m near famished an’ the poor beasts must be plum tuckered out. An’ how ‘bout a little more light.”
Sally built up the fire and pulled out some dried meat while Ty saw to the horses. It wasn’t very long before all three were sitting around the blazing fire. All thought of sleep had vanished.
“Uncle Bob,” Sally began, “How’d ya manage ta get out a that river?”
“Weren’t never in no river, girl.”
“But,” Sally protested, “I’m sure I saw ya down in the bottom of the valley, right ‘fore the water came.”
Carson snorted. “Well, it weren’t me. Why I was plum up the other side when that there flood come a rushin’ down. I was scairt for you an’ Ty. Couldn’t get them ornery beasts ta get anywhere close ta the edge ta look for ya neither. By the time I did get back, there weren’t no sign of neither of ya. I even fired my gun, though it ain’t likely ya could a heard it, seein’ I couldn’t hear it none too well myself. I did light a fire a hopin’ ya’d see the smoke.”
“I didn’t even look for smoke, Carson. Sally had been so sure ya was in the bottom that we both gave ya up for dead.”
“Ya ought ta know it’d take more’n a little water ta get rid a me.” Carson grinned and stroked his beard with his hand.
“But how’d ya find us?” persisted Ty.
“Why, I met Black Eagle. Used ta hunt an’ trap together years back. In fact, yer pa used ta come with us ‘for he went an’ got hitched ta yer ma. Ain’t seen Black Eagle for some time an’ it were right nice ta see him again. He called me Swift Fox an’ yer pa, never one ta talk much, was Silent Hawk.”
“Ty, maybe that’s why Black Eagle kept lookin’ at ya. Ya reminded him of Pa.”
Ty didn’t answer for several minutes. Then he turned with a question to Carson. “How come Black Eagle didn’t say he knew ya?”
Carson shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon we ain’t goin’ ta ever know. He did come a lookin’ ta see if’n I were really dead. An’,” Carson couldn’t help chuckling, “he found out I weren’t. He set me on yer trail an’ here I am. But, by thunder, Ty, I well nigh couldn’t catch ya ‘fore ya travel powerful fast. An’ now,” he yawned, “I reckon I could use with some shut eye.” With that, he stretched out by the fire, after wrapping himself in a blanket, and was soon snoring.
“Well, would ya look at that,” Ty shook his head. “He’s gone from dead ta snorin’ by our campfire. Huh.” Looking across the fire to his sister, he asked, “Ya reckon we ought ta join him?”
Sally giggled. “Jest long’s I don’t have ta snore like a grizzly bear.”
Ty grinned. “I reckon not.”

Now, do you have any questions to get me going again?

Meleah's Western Part 23

Good Morning FFFs,
It is cloudy and wet outside this morning. It rained during the night and there is a chance of rain for today, too. This is the kind of day I either want to curl up with a book or get a lot done. I know, drastic differences.:) I can be rather extreme at times.

I wanted to let you know, those of you who read "Alan's Farewell" that it was named in the honorable mentions of the contest. There were over 320 entries. There are other contests coming up that I'm trying to decide if I should enter. One is at the end of this month. It has to be a christian story of no more than 700 words.:} The other is writing a story for the Vision Forum catalog cover. That has to be in by Dec. 31. I guess we'll see if try. If you think I should enter these, let me know.

Thanks for all your comments on the newest story. I'll be getting back to it as soon as I can. I want to find out what happens and who people are, too. But, for now, here is the next Western. I finally got Ty and Sally to do something.:) Enjoy!

Part 23

It was the smell of a savory, venison stew drifting through the blanket and awakening his appetite that aroused Ty from slumber some time later. For several minutes he remained unmoving, feeling drained of all energy and wishing only to sleep. However, the pangs of hunger would not subside. With a yawn, he threw off the blanket and sat up.
The sun was high, showing that the morning was well nigh past. The vast expanse of sky was a brilliant blue with wisps and puffs of clouds dancing across it. Everywhere in the woods and sky birds were singing, eager to be alive on that glorious day. In the distance, the still snow covered mountain peaks gleamed in the sunlight.
A movement beside him caused Ty to turn. Sally too had been aroused by the smell and sat up.
“Eat.” The Indian across the fire nodded towards the pot on the fire.
Needing no urging, Ty and Sally filled their bowls and began. Not for a long time had they tasted such a wonderful stew, and they ate rapidly and in silence.
When at last he could eat no more, Ty drew a deep breath. “I ain’t sure jest how it happened, but I feel ‘bout ready ta set off again. I ain’t sayin’ I know jest where ta go or that I ain’t goin’ ta miss Carson, but I got the courage ta go on again.”
Sally nodded. “If’n my horse is all right, I reckon it might be nice ta get on.”
Then Black Eagle spoke. “Horse good walk, no ride. Stew give life. We go. Black Eagle show trail to white man and his squaw.”
“We’ll be right glad ta go with ya, Black Eagle, but this here,” and he jerked his head in Sally’s direction, “is my sister not my squaw.”
“Huh.”

Camp was packed up quickly and the trio set off on foot leading the two horses. Each breath of air seemed to infuse new energy and life into every fiber of Ty and Sally’s beings. The events of yesterday, tragic and terrible though they were, could not cast a deep gloom today. They would move forward. Hope of success, however distant, seemed to grow brighter with each step they took.
Sally fingered her locket, looking down into the tiny face, and whispered to herself, “We’ll find her, Mama. We will.”
And Ty, reaching his hand into his pocket pressed the broken locket, muttering with a new tone of determination, “I’ll do it, Pa. No matter what it takes! I’ll find my other sister.”

And so the day moved on. That night they camped and the following morning set off again, still with Black Eagle as their guide. By mid afternoon the old Indian had pointed out a trail which led north. Farewells were called, Ty and Sally rode off leaving Black Eagle watching them until they were lost to sight.

The horses kept up a brisk pace, for the feeling of spring was filling all living creatures with its vitality. By evening the two riders had traversed many miles, and on finding a suitable place to camp, halted. There they prepared their supper after taking care of their horses.

Miles away, the slow plodding steps of horses came through the woods to the keen ears of the watching Indian. Eagerly he listened. The steps came closer. A twig snapped. As the rider came into view, the Indian lowered his rifle and stepped out into the open. At the unexpected appearance, the lead horse snorted and tossed his head. At this the rider looked up.
“Black Eagle!”
“Swift Fox,” replied the Indian on foot. “It is many moons since you come here.”
The rider nodded. “Yes, many moons.”
“Come,” Black Eagle beckoned. “We eat. Smoke pipe. Sleep.”
“Good.”
With his rifle in his hands, Black Eagle led his guest into the woods. Neither talked for both knew talk could wait. Once they had arrived at the Indian’s camp site, Swift Fox slid off his horse and stretched his legs stiffly before taking care of his mount and the other horse.
It was only after the simple meal was over and their first pipes smoked, that the two friends begin to talk. Their low voices were dispassionate at first, however, as Black Eagle recounted the last few days experience, the eyes of his companion began to gleam in the firelight.
“One white man and white squaw?” Swift Fox questioned with interest. “Good!”
“Huh.”
“Where?”
Black Eagle paused, eyeing the other figure across the fire.
“Where they gone to?”
Grunting, Black Eagle gave a faint nod of his head in the direction Ty and Sally had taken.
Swift Fox quickly looked at the darkening sky, then at the still darker woods about them.
As though reading his thoughts, Black Eagle shook his head. “No find tonight. They ride quick.”
“When sun comes again. Black Eagle show Swift Fox the trail. Swift Fox, he find.”
“Huh.”
Silence fell on the little camp site for several minutes. After knocking the ashes from his pipe, Swift Fox began to talk. In the stillness his voice sounded like the distant thunder of a far off storm. For some time the voice went on with a few solitary comments from Black Eagle. Then all was quiet. Rolling themselves in blankets, they slept.

The sun had scarce risen when Swift Fox set off on the trail of Ty and Sally. He was well mounted, and the horse tethered behind was not one to lag on such a morning. Bidding Black Eagle good bye, the rider set the horses into a brisk ground eating pace. He scarcely noticed the lush green leaves which now were to be seen on every tree and bush, nor did he pay the slightest attention to the birds which sang so loudly. He had one fixed idea, to find this white man and his squaw. This he would do. They would not slip from his grasp. He would follow them.

Questions?

No Title Part 2

Good Morning Friday Fiction Fans,
I have returned back from American Government Camp and here I am. I am slowly catching up on sleep. That is one reason why this was not posted by 8:00.

AGC was fun, busy, exhausting, challenging, incredible, wonderful, stressful and so on.:) I enjoyed it. Getting only 5 to 6 hours of sleep every night made things a little harder, but I was so grateful that I could rest in my Father's everlasting arms. Thank you to all who prayed for us during camp. You prayers meant a lot. It was exciting to have all the people we worked for win office this year!

But, I must go clean house. I have a lot of catching up to do, so I'd better get busy.

???

Quickly Justin examined him and when the warm milk came, he gently forced some between the blue lips of the child in Sara’s arms. Then turning to Danny, he offered him the cup. Eagerly the child drank it, holding it out for more when it was gone.
“You can have more later,” Justin assured him. “Mom, could you, Sara and Adam give them baths and find clean clothes?”
Mrs. Morgan nodded.
“Then make sure they’re wrapped up warmly and bring them back.”
Again his mom nodded and said, “I’m sure some of the grandkids’ clothes will fit. It’s a good thing Heather keeps some extra things here. Come on Sara, Adam.”
Before they could leave the room, however, the girl in the chair began looking frantically around, calling in hoarse tones, “Danny! Jenny! . . . Have to find them.” Her restless hands tried to push off the blanket Mr. Morgan had tucked around her. “Jenny! Danny!” A violent fit of coughing put an end to her calls though she still struggled faintly to move from the chair.
“Easy there,” Justin coaxed, taking one of her cold shaking hands in his and noting her pulse. “Everything is going to be all right. Just relax.” Gently he kept her from getting up, talking soothingly all the while. “Danny and Jenny are going to be all right. They are being taken care of, don’t worry about them.”
Mr. Morgan handed Justin a glass of warm milk. Adding a few drops from a bottle he pulled from his medical bag, Justin dropped down in front of the chair. “Here,” he said, holding it to the girls lips, “drink this.”
For a moment she sat limp and made no move to do as she was told. Her eyelids drooped.
“Come on,” Justin ordered softly, “drink it.”
Obediently her mouth opened and she took a swallow.
“What is your name?”
The words or the tone seemed to penetrate the fog that surrounded her mind for she sighed and straightened. “Who are you?” she asked in a bewildered way.
Justin had shifted to one knee before her where he could watch every expression of her face with his keen eyes. “I”m Doctor Justin Morgan. What is your name?”
“Amy.” The name was murmured, and she shivered, moaning as she did so while an expression of pain flitted over her pale face.
“Amy, can you tell me what hurts?”
No answer came.
A few more swallows from the cup revived her enough to mumble, “My leg,” before relapsing into the stupor which was so hard to pull her out of.
After handing Mr. Morgan the cup, Justin pulled back the blanket. After a quick examination, Justin looked up at his dad with a frown. “I don’t like this,” he admitted frankly. “If it weren’t so dark and cold, I’d take all three down to the hospital at once, as it is,--” Breaking off abruptly, he again felt the girl’s pulse and laid his hand against her hot face. “I don’t want them exposed to any more of that cold air now.”
Mr. Morgan nodded. “Do you want her in the upstairs or downstairs bedroom?”
“Down.”
“Then I’ll go open the door and vent so it will warm up.”

“Justin,” Sara spoke softly as she entered the living room a little while later.
Rising from the floor, Justin turned. “Hmm, what we need is a baby bottle. I don’t think that little one is going to drink much if we try a cup or spoon.” He was looking down into the small, pinched face of the tiny girl in his sister’s arms.
“I have a bottle somewhere. Do you want it?”
“You have one? Where?”
“In my room.”
“Get it,” Justin ordered taking the child himself. “It will have to be sterilized.”
Sara nodded and disappeared.
Before she returned, Mrs. Morgan and Adam with a sleepy, little Danny came back. Danny, after Justin gave him a quick examination, was made happy by another cup of milk and then carried off to bed. Several minutes later, Sara carried Jenny and the bottle of milk up to her room, Justin promising to come up later.
Mrs. Morgan now laid a hand on her son’s arm. “What about her?” She nodded towards the chair near the fireplace.
Justin sighed. “I want to take her to the hospital, but not tonight in this weather. Dad is warming up a guest room down the hall.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Amy.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Frankly, Mom, all I know is her first name, that she has a badly injured and infected leg and a terrible cough and is on the brink of total collapse.”
“The poor girl!” Together the two of them stood looking down on the white, pain-filled face of the stranger before them. The light of the flames danced across the thin hand and arm which hung limp and still over the arm of the chair.
“The room is ready.” The softly spoken words brought Justin into action. Together with his father, they lifted and carried the girl in and laid her on the bed. Once there, Justin made a more careful examination of her leg, forced a spoonful of medicine between her unwilling lips and, tucking a hot water bottle in beside her, drew the covers up. Leaving only a small lamp on, he slipped out into the hall.

It was a long night for the young doctor so recently out of medical school who, with keeping an eye on the two little ones upstairs and Amy downstairs, got very little sleep. Yet, the early light of the new dawn filtering in through the office windows found him on the phone with the newly formed hospital in town.
“Yes, . . . I want immediate x-rays of the leg . . .. Dr. Stern should be alerted for consultation later . . .. No-- complete check on both little ones . . .. Have no idea at present . . .. Sounds good. Thanks.”

Any questions for the next part?

No Title Part 1

Goodness Me! I nearly forgot to post. It must be because I am writing this on Wednesday not Friday. On Friday, or whenever it is you read this, I'll be in the midst of American Government Camp 2010! I'm sure I'll be busy, having a wonderful time and be tired if I stopped long enough to think about it.:) Anyway, you can pray for us all at camp. I'll be sure to tell you about it at least a little next Friday. It starts this afternoon with training for the Team Leaders.

I started this story just because it began in my brain and instead of just thinking it like I usually do, I decided to write it and see what happenes. I had thought I'd just write the whole thing, but as it was 2,000 words long and no where near done (it may end up a book), I thought I ought to post part of it here and see what you Friday Fiction Fans think of it. Mom liked it.:) I'll only post the first 1,000 words this week. Next week will be the next thousand.

I hope you tell me what you think of it. And any questions would help to keep it going.:)
P.S. My spell check isn't working, so sorry for any typos.:}

???

The fire crackled brightly in the fireplace of the Morgan cabin. Nestled in a hollow of the mountains where it was sheltered from many a fierce winter wind, the large, two-story house had stood for years. It wasn’t really a cabin, but the Morgans loved to call it one since the outside was all logs. Inside was every modern appliance including electricity. However, tonight only a few lamps burned in addition to the fire.
It was a pleasant group sitting about the rustic living room with its high vaulted ceiling and large picture windows. A walkway running from one side of the upstairs to the other looked down on either side of the large, stone chimney into the living room. On the other, the dining room was seen below. Everywhere the house was dark save for the lamps and fire where the family had gathered. Outside all was black, for the sun had long since set, and the air had an autumn chill to it. To those about the cheerful fire all was warm and peaceful.

“Well, Justin, are you all settled in town?” Mr. Morgan, with his feet on a footstool, regarded his eldest son with a smile.
“I think so. Now that the water and electricity are hooked back up, the ‘hospital’ seems to be all set.” Justin laughed as he said the word hospital.
“Hospital, yeah right,” eighteen-year-old Adam scoffed. “It was an old hotel and still looks like one. It even has the old name above the door.”
“On the outside maybe,” Justin countered good naturally, “but have you seen the inside?”
Adam shook his head.
“I haven’t seen it either, Just.” Sara settled herself more comfortably on the couch opposite her older brother. Her nut brown hair was loose about her shoulders and made her almost look her nineteen years. “But it will be nice to have one in town now, so we don’t have to go all the way to Jackson.”
“Since when have you ever been to a hospital?” Justin couldn’t resist a little teasing.
Sara tossed her head. “Never. And I don’t plan to go just because you are a doctor in this one.”
“Oh come on, Sis!” Justin pleaded. “Wouldn’t you come visit me with a hot pie when I have been slaving away and am exhausted from all my multitude of patients?” He could be dramatic when he chose.
Pursing her lips, Sara pretended to give it some thought. “Maybe,” she finally said, adding, “but I’d have to think about it first.”
Justin threw a pillow at her which she promptly tossed back.
“But really, Son,” Mrs. Morgan spoke softly when the pillows had ceased to fly, “I’m glad we now have a medical facility even if it does look like a hotel. As long as the personnel know what they are doing, that is what we need.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mom There may not be many of us, but I think we’re ready. At least we’ll do our best.”
“That’s all that needs done.” Mr. Morgan agreed and then stared into the fire, and all fell silent.

The loud barking of their collie, Captain, broke the silence outside.
“What is he barking about?” Justin turned to try to look out the window behind him but could see nothing but the reflection of the fire and lamps.
“It’s not his ‘wild animal’ bark nor is it his company coming bark--”
Adam had stood up as Sara spoke and grabbed his shotgun from a rack nearby. “I’ll go check.”
“Be careful,” Mrs. Morgan called.
In silence the rest of the family waited, listening to the barking which seemed to have a different tone to it than usual. Suddenly they were startled by Adam’s cry, “Mom! Dad! Justin! Sara!”

The four sprang up and rushed for the door. There by the light of the front porch which Mr. Morgan snapped on, they could see Adam supporting someone out in the yard! It was a girl, and she was carrying something! In an instant the Morgan family were around them. The girl had two young children in her arms and was clearly exhausted.
“Here, Sara, take that one. Mom can you carry this one? Dad, steady her on this side. Get them inside while I grab my bag from the truck.” Justin threw his orders rapidly and the next moment was sprinting the short distance to his pick-up.

Moments later, he was back in the house. Turning the lights on in the living room he found the girl sitting in a chair by the fire. Her eyes held a glazed look while dark circles under them gave added proof that she hadn’t slept for a while. She seemed on the verge of collapse.
“Just!”
Justin turned to find Sara holding the small child in her arms while tears trickled down her cheeks. She looked pleadingly at him. Motioning her to sit down, he jerked out his stethoscope. As he pulled back the tattered shirt the child was wrapped in, he noticed the bluish tint to its lips and the thin little arms. A quick check showed it was still alive.
Pulling a flannel throw off the back of a nearby rocking chair, he quickly wrapped it around the child. “Mom, I want some warm milk as quickly as possible.”
With a nod Mrs. Morgan placed the other child in Adam’s arms and hurried off.
This one, a child of about three years of age, began to cry whether from cold, hunger or fright, no one knew.
“Danny,” a dry hoarse voice called, “its going to be okay.”
The girl in the chair seemed to have been roused from her stupor by the crying and now held out her arms. “I’ll take him.”
“Let me keep him a little longer,” Adam urged gently. “See, he has already quieted.” It was true, as soon as he had heard his name, Danny had quit crying and now lay motionless in the strong arms that held him.

~To be continued next week.

Meleah's Western - Part 22

Good Morning Friday Fiction Fans,
That's right, today you get the next part of the Western! I don't know what was wrong with everybody, but they didn't want to do anything. I think they were just so overwhelmed with all that had just taken place that they couldn't think well. Whatever the reason, I had trouble getting this written. Maybe it was just me. I hadn't written for a while, so perhaps my brain was clogged.:) (Writers can come up with all kinds of excuses.:))

This week has gone by quickly, as usual. I have written every night except last night because I had class. I didn't get the story I was trying to get done finished, but I did get the first part of another one done. But that is for next week.

I have also been getting ready for American Government Camp. :) It should be lots and lots of fun and hard work.:) I will have a post up next Friday even though I will be in the midst of AGC. I can get it ready to post on Wednesday (before we leave for training) and set the time so it will post on Friday morning.:)

But enough of that. Here is Meleah's Western Part 22! Enjoy! Oh, and remember, boys in WI, you can comment, too.:)

Part 22

No one talked as the three travelers ate their evening meal. Ty and Sally kept watching their visitor, wondering where he had come from, who he was and what he was doing. Neither could eat much though they at least pretended to, more for the sake of the other than for themselves. The food seemed to stick in their throats, and it was only with effort than they managed to swallow any of it. It was a relief when at last the repast was ended.
The Indian lit his pipe and stared into the darkness. Ty built the fire up to a pleasant blaze. Then settling down beside his sister, he began to talk.
“My name’s Ty an’ this is Sally. Who’re you?”
“Black Eagle.”
“What’re ya doin’ out here?”
“Hunting grounds this. Hurt leg,” the Indian grunted while nodding towards his right leg and continued. “See strange fire. White squaw welcome Black Eagle.”
For several minutes the Indian smoked in peace before asking, “What white man and squaw do here?”
Briefly Ty recounted their adventures ending with Carson’s death in the river. “An’ now we aim ta keep headin’ north ta Fort Larramie. Can ya tell us how ta git ‘round the river?”
The Indian grunted. “When sun come, me show.”
Ty expressed his gratitude, but Sally pulled at his sleeve.
“Ty,” she spoke low, “I can’t ride tomorrow. My horse is injured.”
“Bad?”
She shook her head. “No, but she was limpin’ ‘fore we stopped, an’ I found her right foreleg cut.”
“She might be better in the mornin’.”
No further words were spoken as the darkness deepened about them. The cry of an owl in the woods was heard and in the stillness distant sounds were amplified. The heavens were bright with stars. Gazing up at them, Sally yawned. The day had been long and full of heartache and sorrow.
“Why don’t ya get some sleep,” Ty asked her, touching her arm gently.
She nodded and in a few minutes was rolled up in her blanket. Clutching her locket with its precious picture, she fell asleep trying hard not to think of Carson.

The night, passing quickly for Sally whose overwrought nerves demanded rest, dragged by with slow, weary feet for Ty. Their Indian guest, after sitting silent for some time, also rolled himself in a blanket and slept. Into the flickering light of the dying flames Ty gazed, not seeing anything, lost in memories, struggling to accept Carson’s death. If this trip was to cost so dearly at the outset, what would the final cost be? Would it be worth everything?
All through that long, lonely night Ty wrestled with himself and with the questions that had no answers. Questions that kept returning to haunt him and which only brought more questions.

As the grey dawn began to steal across the sky, Ty stood to stretch his cramped and weary legs and built up the fire. As he did so, both the Indian and Sally awakened.
“I reckon I’ll be goin’ huntin’,” Ty spoke to no one in particular.
“No,” the quiet voice of Black Eagle interrupted any words Sally might have said. “White man sleep now. Black Eagle hunt.”
Ty shook his head. “Can’t sleep.”
“Did you sleep at all last night, Ty?” Sally questioned somewhat anxiously.
He shook his head.
“Then do try ta sleep now,” she begged.
Again Ty shook his head. “Can’t,” and he turned to the Indian.
But he was not to be seen. No trace that he had been there but moments before were visible.
“Black Eagle?” Ty called, his voice sounding harsh and out of place in the quiet morning air. No answer came back and the brother and sister looked at each other.
“Ya reckon there were an Indian here for real, Sally?”
“I think so,” Sally sounded a little uncertain. “We couldn’t both be dreamin’ the same thing, could we?”
Ty sighed deeply and sank down beside the warm fire. The air was chilly and he felt cold clear through. Right then he wouldn’t have cared if a tribe of Indians had been there and then vanished.
“Ty,” Sally coaxed, “please lie down an’ rest some. I can’t be havin’ ya get sick like--” The loss of her father was still keenly felt and she left her sentence unfinished.
Ty reached up and pulled her down beside him. “I ain’t goin’ ta git sick, Sissy.” It was a rare thing for that endearing childhood name to pass Ty’s lips and Sally gave a quavering smile. “I reckon I might jest take a bit of a rest if’n ya don’t mind the quiet.” He smiled wearily.
“Mind the quiet? I’ve been livin’ in quiet for ‘round two years with Pa off trappin’ or huntin and ya off with . . . oh, Ty!” and the sentence ended in a sob.
Gently Ty put an arm about his sister. “Now, ya jest git some more rest. I reckon ya need it ‘fore we travel on.”
Sally pulled away from him. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she swallowed hard. “I’ll rest only if’n ya will too.”
“All right,” Ty yawned. He knew it was useless to try to argue, and in a few minutes he was sleeping soundly.
For several minutes Sally sat gazing about her in the half light of early morning. Everything was shrouded in stillness save for the soft chirpings of a few birds. Even the horses tethered nearby seemed to be enjoying their rest. Sally wondered where the Indian had gone and if he would return. Had his presence been a dream? She shook her head. No, he was real. And he had been there. Where he had gone and how were mysteries which might remain forever unsolved.
A gentle snore issued from the blanket in which Ty had rolled himself. Sally yawned. Then, feeling tired, she lay back down near her brother and was soon, like him, asleep.

Any questions to spur me on?

Alan's Farewell

Good Morning FFFs,
I'll have to hurry since I'm running late and will want to go eat breakfast soon. The answer to last weeks "Who Am I?" was TIME! Good job, Abigail and EMC.:)

This week was very full. My aunt (Dad's youngest sister) and her fiancee came down from PA for a visit. They arrived Sunday evening and didn't leave until yesterday morning. So, I didn't get any writing done at all! We did get a new front porch roof built.:) So, I was thinking of what to post this morning, and I decided that I'd just post the story I sent in to the writing class contest. I don't think it will win, but you can read it anyway. This is the 7th version. The first was in my book which most of you have read. What do you think of this version?

Alan’s Farewell
Rebekah Morris

The evening sun was nearing the horizon as Alan McLean, attired in his Scottish garb with kilt, bray and sporran, climbed the hill to the cliffs overlooking the sea. His face wore a look of pain as he stopped near the edge and gazed about. It was harder than he thought it would be, this saying good-bye. Softly he began playing his much loved bagpipes which he carried over his shoulder. The notes wandered here and there as though unsure of how to find expression, growing louder with each moment, full of an unspoken yearning as they settled into “Amazing Grace” and filled the still air.
As he played the familiar tune, Alan’s thoughts drifted back over the years. Leaving Scotland and settling here in Nova Scotia, Canada had been difficult, but the family had been together. Now he would be leaving for war, alone. Already Britain, France, Canada and others were fighting the German nation. And it all started, he recalled, with an archduke being killed. Part of Alan longed to stay at home fishing with his father and brother, but he knew the very freedoms they enjoyed were being threatened. That was why he had signed up to fight.
He continued playing as he gazed out over the waters which reflected the sun’s evening glories. The sudden realization that tonight was his last night to stand here caused him to pause in the midst of the song and then begin a new one. As the haunting melody of “Auld Lang Syne” floated out over the water, the cliff, the trees, Alan tried to fix the image of the place in his mind. It had grown so dear to him. Pouring his very soul into every note, they swirled and dipped around him revealing the pain in his heart.
Tomorrow all this would be beyond his sight. He dared not turn and look down the hill where the McLean home stood. The very thought of not seeing his brother, not feeling the kisses of his mother nor the handclasps of his father brought the tears to his eyes. Would he have the courage to say good-bye?
His heart felt like lead and the notes from his pipes began to falter and break. Choking back the sob that rose in his throat, Alan tried to continue playing, but somehow the notes, which usually came so readily, refused to come. His shoulders began to shake and the tears to stream down his cheeks.
“Och, my hame! My faither an’ maither, I cannae leave ye! My hert isna at war--!” Sobs shook his tall form, and he covered his face with his hand.
All at once, the sounds of another piper continuing the broken song floated to his ears. Alan swallowed hard. He knew who it was but didn’t turn to welcome his father as he approached the cliff. Closing his eyes momentarily, Alan drew a long shaky breath and glanced beside him. Nothing was lacking in his father’s attire as a proud Scotsman.
The very sight seemed to inspire Alan, for he began once more to play. Though he began softly, he couldn’t remain so, and soon the two pipers were sending the remainder of the song out on the wings of the evening breeze.
Then Mr. McLean spoke. “Aye lad,” his strong voice was clear as he placed a hard, rough hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. “We’ll ne’er be foregettin’ ye. Donnae ye ken that?” Scanning the young face before him, he saw the traces of tears and rightly guessed the cause.
Alan replied in a voice not quite steady, “Aye.”
“Then donnae break yer mither’s hert with sic dreeful songs,” Mr. McLean chided gently. “Her een are upon ye frae oor hame, an’ it’s sair her hert will be if ye’re gang far to war wi’ out singin’ oor favorite hymn. Be ye able to sing?”
There was a moment of silence. Alan gazed out over the waters. Straightening his shoulders he looked his father in the face. “Aye, wi’ David I am.” The words were clear and steady.
Turning to gaze resolutely towards the McLean home, he watched his mother and brother climbing the hill towards him and burst into a lively march on his pipes. The sun was a flaming ball of fire, casting a golden light to tinge the purple and pink clouds. In the east, one or two stars were bravely peeking out of the dusky sky.
All was hushed now. Even the pounding waves seemed subdued. In the expanse above, an eagle hung motionless, waiting. After kissing his mother, Alan gripped his brother’s hand, looking deeply into his eyes. David gazed back and a smile of brotherly love flashed between them. Mr. McLean had begun the melody. Full and touching floated the skirl of the pipes, only hushing its strength when Alan’s rich tenor and David’s perfect harmony began, blended as never before.

“I am far frae my hame, an’ I’m weary aften whiles,
For the longed-for hame-bringin’, an’ my Faither’s welcome smiles.
An’ I’ll ne’er be fu’ content, until my een do see
The Gowden gates o’ heav’n an’ my ain country.”

As verse followed verse, the sun sank lower until the McLean family was left silhouetted against the glowing clouds of the western sky. There they remained until the last echoes of the hauntingly sweet notes had died away to be remembered in their hearts in the years to come.
A thrill ran through Alan’s frame, and he gazed at his father. Whatever this war held for him, or for these dear ones waiting at home, they would be united again. If not here on earth, than in “oor ain countrie.” This was not a last farewell. One day they would be together again.
“Aye,” Alan spoke aloud as his mother slipped her hand through his arm, “though mony years may pass before we see one another, someday we’ll a’ be in a countrie whaur we’ll ne’re part nae mair!”

I'll find out the winners on Nov. 4th.